Fulcrum And The Lever
by Electronic Cow
Summary: AU set post Season 2 Finale! A true partnership is one in which you can give and take but maintain balance between extremes. Unfortunately for Stiles; his life is built on extremes and other people have agendas of their own. He doesn't want the bite but what if he never had a choice at all? Immunity to lycanthropy is a mystery in and of itself, a mystery other forces would solve.
1. Chapter 1

**First foray into this fandom. Just got so hooked on Sterik thanks to the fantastic gallery of fiction here on for that pairing. Plus, come on, pool scene? Yeah. This story takes place in an AU of my design set post season-2 finale. The only difference between this and current major canon of the show is **_**the Alpha Pack has not arrived yet that anyone knows of**_**. I also make many broad assumptions to fit my purposes. So. . .rather AU but enjoy! Also; I promise this one will get steady updates. I'm already far into Chapter 2!**

**CHAPTER ONE**

**Talking Bird**

The lack of high school sounds made the guidance counselor's office a decidingly different place. Strategically placed lamps meant to exert a calming influence were not on. Carefully selected nature sounds played at a barely audible volume, also not needed. Ms. Morrell's room just seemed like a better decorated than normal office on a Wednesday noon. Blinds open of course - the woman had an aversion to closing those things even if she were being blinded in the 'patients' chair. Why not in her usual plush, carefully adjusted to her rear chair? Well that was being taken up by Dr. Deaton. The man had his elbows on the desk, fingers laced, and was letting the good doctor get a taste of her own medicine.

"So in your expert opinion doctor, do any of them have potential?"

Doctor. The woman smiled, a slip of the lip at most, and kept twirling a bit of dark hair around her carefully manicured finger. It was easy to forget that she was technically a doctor despite the setting she chose to work.

"A few have a spark we could work with." The woman did not look particularly convinced as she spoke. A 'spark'; nothing more. Possibility in a large pile of junk with no aptitute what-so-ever. Though if she were realistic, "Two have already shown potential though I'd not call either situation ideal. Aptitude by delusion and necessity. I would wager their experiences actually damaged the fluidity of the product."

He frowned, "Kids, Ms. Morrell, kids, not products." Grave tone. Unnessary air quotes on 'products'. She stood by her observation regardless and just shrugged, a light rolling of the shoulders that could have been a simple 'I don't care' but if the man knew her at all was more a 'Don't give a damn what you think'. Even considering her role as a counselor the 'kids' were a product that she attempted to meld back to working shape. Well, something close to efficency, as close as teenagers could come. . .which was not very, as she previously surmised.

"_Products_. Do not get sentimental on me." She wasn't harsh. Just factual. He sighed and seemed to relent thus returning the floor to the report. Morrell abandoned her hair twirling to pluck two files from the pile in her lap and toss them on the desk. Deaton could read them while she spoke - multitasking was good for cognition. "As I said, two. Neither would have any merit in my opinion were we not digging for scraps." Seeing as Deaton flipped through one file, she leaned forward and tapped a nail on the other, "First Martin, I believe we have already ascertained that she can perform under durress. This could indicate a skill in contact but that requires a firmer examination of Peter Hale's blood memory. One that I'm not allowed to conduct, sadly." Their eyes met over the reports, one annoyed and the other spiteful, but the moment soon passed and she resumed, "Intellectually, she is exceptional. Strong will as well though the girl seems to ignore anything inconvient to her. Unless you plan to get her possessed again, I'm all too willing to write her off as an annoying slow-burn." Very annoying, the girl was hardly the counselor's favorite patient.

Deaton smirked and gave the counselor a pointed look that only irked her a _little_. "Girl seems frighteningly similiar to someone else I used to know."

Morrell rolled her eyes, "Clearly someone is losing their memory to old age." Leaning forward she plucked the second folder from Deaton's hands and flopped it open in her lap. The first page was a blown up ID picture of a skinny, pale boy with short cropped hair and way too energetic eyes, "I am not sure we even want to consider this one to be honest. I believe he is every bit as intelligent as Martin but would never apply himself." A page flip to her perfect handwriting and Morrell shook her head. "Really Deaton, ADHD, are we really that desperate these days? The kid is a spaz."

"A spaz, doctor?"

Another eye roll, "Deaton, I've spent all my days recently speaking with teenagers. What would you perfer I call him? Crackhead? Freak? Socially bankrupt piece of shi-"

Deaton put up a hand and sighed, "Really doctor, I get your point." She wasn't sure he did. Teenagers had a variety of ways to address the social ranks - a tiresome thing she learned despite best attempts _not_ to. "Don't count the boy out due to his faults, doctor. He has performed quite admirably when given the right incentive, no? Scott's friend did manage materialization all on his own after-all, mountain ash no less. If I recall it takes most several weeks before they even consider materializing ritual objects." Deaton paused, perhaps waiting for her to interject, but Morrell just kept flipping through the folder on Stilinski with feigned interest. Considering she wrote the entire folder by hand none of it was new. Still, it served to address her dislike of the idea - fluke or not. Realizing her lack of desire to contradict him directly, Deaton pressed on, "I am not quite certain that was his first success either. The boy certainly seemed integral in _their_ survival at some points. An unlikely position for a truly mundane, woundl't you agree?"

_Their_. _Them_. The group they had seemingly adopted these days with no more than subtle hints and a careful eye. Morrell was less than impressed with the lot as a whole, an opinion she knew was not shared, but could not deny a bit of promise. A _bit_, nothing to report on certainly.

"Fine. Acceptable _potential_. At least he managed to accomplish the feat without a dead werewolf puppeteer." Another page of Stilinski's folder, records of a question and answer session with the boy, almost changed her mind immediately. Definitely a 'spaz'. Perhaps not a crackhead. Came up clean on drug tests at least. One hand snapped the folder shut and tossed it with Martin's on the immaculately clean desk, "So these our are diamonds in the row. Delightful what promise this town brings."

Sarcasm. Her default. Deaton was used to it - he even smiled, "Give them time. The brewing situation and a little push should be more than enough. For now just continue monitoring their development and keep up the therapy." Morrell half expected more air quotes at 'therapy' but perhaps Deaton actually believed she cared for these teens mental health - tip; she didn't. "For now I believe we should focus more on Stiles than Martin. With the kamina boy back to his old self she is too secure to access. Listening to Scott talk though - Stiles may be heading towards just the right direction. Have your sessions confirmed that?" This was their success on the line and Deaton had the gaul to look sad about it. Only slightly, he knew what was at stake.

Morrell did not feel that emotion, "Our last session, three days ago, leads me to believe so. Apparently the boy's father agrees. Our sessions were upped from once a week to twice. In liu of all that happened to him with Gerald, Martin, and his father, the kid is spiraling. Not that his father realizes that he is part of Stilinski's problems." She paused and rose to get some coffee from the little pot in the corner. None was offered to her 'guest'. "Stilinski seems to be using a combination of distraction and his friend McCall to balance his moods. The former can't be helped but the latter. . ."

"Must you turn sinister on me so quickly?" Oh, she'd plucked a nerve. Deaton's voice had deepened, "If possible I'd like to avoid _that_ route. Any damage to their friendship may be more than either boy can stand. I'd also like to not see Scott hurt. I did care for the boy before he became a werewolf you know." Morrell wanted to sigh but didn't. She would never understand how Deaton could grow close to kids - personally she hated them. Perhaps hate was a little strong, they _annoyed_ her with their drama. Who had time for relationship drama in a world like this? That thought and Deaton's comment of, "There must be another way to spur him in the right direction." practically burst a lightbulb in her brain.

"Another way? Perhaps, I may have one."

"And that would be?"

Morrell carefully placed her thick handled coffee cup ('A Smile Brightens Up The World!') on a coaster and reopened the folder, "Stilinski slips quite a bit in our sessions. Tries to cover it up of course but he is awful at lying. There is someone he mentions nearly as much as McCall and Martin." Considering those two were nearly all the boy would talk about, period, the addition of a third had caught her interest. That interest spawned the entire page of elegant handwriting her finger traced line by line. "The Hale boy, excuse me, _Alpha_. Derek Hale. Stilinski made multiple references to him - mostly about having to, and I quote, 'save his angry ass over and over'. Kid tried to play it off as figurative but I'm assuming it to be rather literal." Deaton nodded when she glanced at him so Morrell pressed on, "One story he mentioned involved swimming for at least two hours to keep them afloat in the river."

Deaton actually laughed, "The river, eh? Try the school swimming pool. It was actually for almost three hours before Scott saved them."

Morrell sighed and plucked a pen from her pocket to edit the report - lying brats, "Three hours of constant effort certainly implies attachment. Perhaps not to the same level as his core three blocks but it could be expanded with the proper push out of his security zone."

Done she plucked her black coffee and sank back into the patient's chair while Deaton processed. A silence fell between them and Morrell idly flipped page to page in the report searching for mention of Derek Hale. Now that she looked for it the man's name seemed to pop out quite a bit. It had not been all that noticable before she actually started to _look_ for it.

Finally Deaton nodded at nothing considering she was not even looking at him, "It could be done. We would need to carefully monitor the situation though. Hale is about to be caught up in a situation that could put Stiles in danger." A pause, he waited till she looked up and made Morrell feel that the next words were meant especially for her to hear, "We can't foster the talent of a dead kid. If we proceed in this direction it must be with utmost caution and certaintity of it being the best path for his growth."

The best path. The _best_ path would have been an entirely new candidate pool. The guidance counselor reined in that bit of news though and shrugged once more, "Acceptable risk for measureable gain. I suppose in our next session I could imprint a seed or two. Considering how this brat likes to pick at his own emotional scabs he would accomplish the rest by himself most likely." Imprinting would be a bother considering the kid's erratic mental state but Morrell had confidence in her abilities.

So too was Deaton, "Just remember doctor; try and keep the imprint subtle. We have yet to ascertain the true extent of his potential. If young Stiles does possess talent, a deep imprint might cause a cortex shutdown or prevent the two from ever forming a link. Be sure he does not detect it. Just a push, not a lock, understood?"

The counselor nodded, "Gentle, can do. He will not even suspect the push. If I'm right though; I'll just be speeding up an already initiated process. This kid already seems to have a network build up around Derek Hale."

Deaton arced a brow, "A network? Really?"

She shrugged, "From what I've gathered, yes. If I were to guess I would say it is not exactly an innocent one either." Another sign of Deaton's negative influence. . .had she really just assigned Stiles Stilinski's feelings for Derek Hale into the 'crush' category only horny teenagers used?

Definitely getting soft from this 'retirement'.

vvvvv _**Three Days Later **_vvvvv

**TO: **Scott

_picked up from therapy in a cop car my rep is dead_

**FROM: **Scott

_y? ur jeep still in the shop?_

**TO: **Scott

_ya. course jacks could not just ruin the paint job he had to dent the whole front_

"Son, I think you are attached to that thing."

Stiles glanced over and smiled at his dad sheepishly. Sheriff Stilinski rolled his eyes but did not look away from the road, never did, even when they were not in his patrol car. Probably good considering the man was still technically on the clock. He didn't seem to mind playing taxi for his possible nut-job son on his way to and from therapy though. The drive could have counted as bonding time had Stiles not spent all of it embedded in his now-pocketed phone. Coundl't have his dad taking it away _again_.

"Just Scott, dad. You know how he is. Always has to know what I'm doing and when, he's a stalker, I swear to ya. Following Allison around is just the tip of the iceberg man." All said with absolute cheeky sincerity in his voice. Check, his dad smiled and quickly tried to cover it up. Score one for Stiles! Considering how little smiling the recently re-ordained Sheriff had been up to lately, every victory counted. Scott would understand the crack if he ever found out about it – which he woundl't. The younger Stilinski was not sure his wolfy companion would find it quite as humorous.

The ensuing silence of Stiles peering out at the passing scenery was broken by his father.

"So. . .how was today's session?"

Awkward. Weirder than normal. That therapist, Ms. Cruella-Morella, never smiled and Stiles was sometimes reminded of TV serial killers when she stared at him. Sometimes meaning a lot. Seriously; not even a single one of his jokes made her smile. Woman just wanted to keep pressing all his little invisible buttons six billion hours of field work and college allowed her to see. His therapist ranked up there with Allison's father as 'most intimidating people ever'.

Instead, "Really. . .informative?"

Not good enough for dear-ol-dad.

"Meaning what?"

Sigh, awkward time.

"Well. . .she mostly wanted to talk about my friends. No, not Scott, she set a strict no-Scott policy today. No lacrosse either. She never wants to hear about lacrosse though. Swear every time I mention it that woman tries to set me on fire with those beady little eyes of hers and-"

"Stiles."

Oops. Name. Not 'Son'. Gear shift time.

"You know, my friends. Lydia, Allison, Danny, and even Jackson too but you know what they say – if you don't have anything good to say. . ." Stiles went off on a ramble half-heartedly. It was true, they had discussed his 'core-five' friends group sans-Scott. There were a few others in there his dad did not know of though. Erica, Isaac, not that he was particularly close to either of the two as of never. He mentioned Boyd all of once. All of those names his dad might have cared about. Another one would have just irritated his dad by association alone – _Derek Hale_. That had been the weirdest part of the whole session. Ms. Morrell just dropped her little Derek bomb out of nowhere.

"_Tell me Stiles, what do you think of Derek Hale? You seem to mention him quite often in our sessions."_

"_I think of him as an adorable little ball of angst. Yeah, no. I don't know. He's always angry or in trouble and nearly as scary as you are."_

She hadn't laughed. Again.

"_So he scares you?_"

Woman had just glossed over the bit where she did too.

"_I. . .I don't know. Not really, I guess? I mean if Derek wanted to hurt me he would have by now. Could just be he owes me though."_

"_Then do you consider him like one of your friends?"_

The instantaneous 'hell no' had been right within reach but something about the woman's truth-gouging eyes made Stiles hesitate. Just a moment. Not long at all. Instead he'd answered her with a, "_I don't know? I. . .no, I don't."_And why exactly was that bothering him _now_? Now, as in almost an hour later as they pulled into his driveway?

The ramble to his father – something about how Scott and Allison were still weird – had apparently died off. Stile's dad was giving him _the_ look – the 'You are leaving something out again.' look that featured in all their conversations for the past week. The look that meant he knew stuff was being left out but would not pry. The look that had at first made Stiles irritated but now just left him feeling a bit down that he caused it. When had things gotten so awkward between them? Oh right, when his life turned into a bad horror movie.

"Look, Stiles, I'm. . ." A pause, hesitation, Stiles tensed up in his seat but did not look over at his dad. Some point in their front yard fixated him on the window. What it was only the buzz cut brain knew – it just meant not looking at his father's face again. Not seeing whatever may be lurking there. Disappointment maybe? With whom it was sometimes hard to tell. ". . .I'm just glad you're talking to someone. Hopefully it helps sort out some of what is going on with you lately."

_Since you won't talk to me._

His dad did not have to say it – Stiles knew what he had really meant, he felt bad about it. At one point the two had been thick as thieves until. . .well. . ._everything_. How his dad had not caught on during the whole killer-lizard-Gerard mess was still beyond the younger Stilinski's comprehension. Not that he minded. In fact, he preferred his father not know. Knowledge of the town's secrets was having a harsh enough effect on Scott's mom, who wanted to know everything, and that just made everything. . .awkward.

In that, she freaked out every-time Scott left the house, way.

"Dad, I'm fine. It's umm. . .nice to talk to someone random."

"I hope so."

"Seriously, I'm fine. Much better now." That sounded convincing, hopefully. Stiles made sure to add in a smile and light wave as he stepped out of the patrol car.

His phone was back out before Stiles even made it inside.

**TO: **Scott

_my dad thinks im insane_

Seeing as Scott did not have an Allison-sized distraction anymore to fawn over, at least right now, his instant replies continued.

**FROM: **Scott

_no he doesn't hes just worried_

_least he doesn't almost cry when you leave nite_

True. Stiles _was_ glad of that one. Just like he was glad they still had peanut butter in the fridge to fix himself a sandwich. Finding food in the Stilinski household was as good as striking gold. At-work-all-the-time dad and lazy, highschool son? Yeah, groceries totally did not happen in this homestead.

**TO:** Scott

_yeah, i guess_

_you busy tonight?_

True desperation; the 'hey bro what you doing tonight' message.

The response did not come immediately. A whole ten minutes – Scott was slipping here. When the phone finally vibrated Stiles had returned to his 'hobby' of reading cheap amazon books about supernatural creatures – namely werewolves. He was rapidly turning into a walking encyclopedia here.

**FROM**: Scott

_meeting w/ Isaac_

_wants to tell me something_

Isaac. A name Stiles had not heard in a minute. After that last night with the kamina, when Jackson had gone full wolf, the entire group just kind of drifted apart. Erica and Boyd had vanished, Isaac left with Derek and crazy-serial-killer-Alpha Peter Hale, and Allison had retired from dealing with any of them really. For the kid to just pop back up after ditching school and everything. . .

**TO**: Scott

_when we meeting him?_

Desperation max; inviting yourself on your werewolf buddy's 'date' with another werewolf despite not being one yourself. Stiles half suspected these wolves just met up to go running or something. Momentary flash of having both on a leash aside (awkwardly aside), this could be a recipe for entertainment. Save the part where. . .

**FROM**: Scott

_no. always dangerous w/ derek's crew_

_I be fine._

Stiles rolled his e yes, "Yes Scott, I'm sure you will be. Clearly every other time worked out just great. And seriously, 'I be'? Dude."

**TO: **Scott

_don't even try it dude_

_saved your butt from kamina remember?_

_totally taking me along_

The next twenty minutes of his life was spent opening and closing his book, playing with the remote but not turning on the TV, and checking his phone to see if he missed the vibrate. Stiles knew he was being ridiculous and Scott was probably just busy. He had so much energy though for no apparent reason, ever since his session, despite sleeping all night for once ever. Stiles just chalked this one up to sitting in a chair for an hour and not being able to ramble.

He liked to ramble. . .though no one would know that willingly.

**FROM**: Scott

_fine meet woods 9_

. . .And how was he supposed to get there with no jeep? Crap.

**TO: **Scott

_okay see you there. I'll bring leashes to walk you two._

The potential creepiness of that text went completely unnoticed.

**vvvvv vvvvv vvvvv**

"Stiles, I'm not a taxi service."

"Yeah Danny, I know, just come on. . .please?"

"…Fine. This once. And you better pay up."

"Trust me, I'll get the stuff as soon as I can."

And lo, through the grace of Danny's sensibly gay (as Stiles called it) Prius, did Stiles actually make it to the edge of the woods early. Way early. As in, after talking to Scott he showered, changed into yet another hoodie and jeans combo, and started the hunt for wheels. That took a minute and Stiles was somewhat shocked at how hard it was. Allison was out for obvious reasons – '_Hey Allison, take me to the usual place to meet your ex-boyfriend werewolf meeting a pack-mate of sorts_.' Yeah, not happening. Lydia would have probably not even answered her phone – _actually she didn't, he tried _– and Jackson. . .well there were some lengths a man could not go to, no matter what. So why not Jackson's friend, eh?

"You seriously want to be dropped off. . .here?"

'_Don't worry Danny. Just meeting werewolves.'_

"Yeah, this is good. Y'know, Scott and I are working on stuff out here. A project, yeah." Stiles's attempts to sound convincing seemed to work. Unfortunately, the door did not, and he fumbled with it as the lacrosse star stared at him. Irritated of course at being dragged out to the edge of town. . .but Stiles was used to people feeling that way towards him – barely even noticed it anymore! Just like he was used to people grabbing him at random like Danny did when the door finally opened, "You better come through. I wasted my time and gas on this." . . . .Maybe could have done without the '_It's an emergency!_' lie.

Stiles shrugged the hand off his arm and laughed (so forced), "Don't worryyyyy, I'll get that picture for you as soon as I can. Not like I keep hot pics of my cousin on hand, perv."

The tan boy did not even bother looking affronted, "I'd hope not. Remember though, I want a good picture. No shirt. Shorts at most. Good lighting. Without clothes if you-"

Stiles shut the car door with both hands to the window. Not fast enough!

Thumbs up?

Danny glared at him through the clear window and drove out without returning it.

Little did he know that the chances of Stiles getting a 'hot picture' of his 'cousin Miquel' in shorts were nonexistent. Oh well, what Danny did not know would only get Stiles injured at a later date when he did not pay up. No big deal – he stayed injured lately.

The trek only compounded that list of injuries. Despite his numerous trips into these same woods to the same clearing Stiles managed to trip and stumble over almost everything. Really? Did it have to be so hard without a wolf guide to point out the proper path? Also, why had he not invested in a good pair of hiking shoes yet? Converse _did not_ work here. Did every branch just _have_ to be at eye level? It hadn't rained recently – why was there mud?

Isaac met him at the edge of the clearing with his token _Isaac_ smirk – the one you could not tell if he was amused or aroused. "Looks like you just walked out of a war movie, Stilinski." Dark jeans, black tee, and boots just showed that the beta was becoming more and more like his pack master idol every day. Except, y'know, not as broody.

"Missed the climax of the movie. Fell into a hole back there and had to fight my way through badgers to escape. Rough bastards. Could take you wolves for a ride." While trading snips with the beta Stiles worked at picking all the remnant forest off him. Scott had yet to arrive – late was kind of his thing – so the two just chatted. Their topic? Nothing of real importance, just a mundane back and forth as Isaac stood there with his arms crossed over chest and Stiles stared back defiantly as an unknown twig in his hair would allow.

The topic of, '_Stiles, why are you even here?_' did not come up, thankfully.

A good thirty minutes of chatter about lacrosse, foods they each liked, and if Isaac should dye his hair red or not later, Scott finally arrived. The teen wolf came barreling through the foliage on all fours and sprang into a leap, turned once in the air, and landed on his feet not far from the other teens. Very flashy, a work of straight parkour in action.

Isaac golf-clapped while Stiles held up seven fingers, "I give it a 7 for style. Not quite Derek-level yet. Definitely need to land with the claws extended next time."

Cue the slightly menacing sound of _Isaac chuckle_, "Don't forget to be fully wolfed out on landing. That first growl could be your ticket to a ten if done correctly."

Stiles rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, "Growl? Really? What are we – twelve? Needs to be a howl loud enough to shake the trees for a ten. I better see Bambi faint."

Through-out the whole exchange Scott stood there, eyebrow raised, glancing from teen to teen confounded, "What's happening here? Thought you two stayed at each other's throats – since when are you bonding and rating my entrances like show hosts?"

Stiles and Isaac, both now standing with their arms crossed over their chest in nearly the same pose, glanced at each other before turning back to Scott. What came next was in perfect unison, "Because we both come on time."

Teen wolf looked officially creeped out as of that moment.

With a sigh Stiles turned back to Isaac and indicated Scott with a thumb point, "So he finally showed up. What you want to talk to us about anyway?" _Us_. Key word. He trusted Scott to keep quiet about that whole 'inviting myself along' thing. If anything Scott just seemed distracted by how he kept sniffing the air and glancing at his phone. Did that thing even get signal out here? Stiles had never even tried considering the main person he texted or called was _right here_ and his father would be busy working till late. Fact he even brought the thing was getting astounding these days. Wow, his social life. . .

Isaac glanced from one boy to the other and opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it. Stiles did not even have to hear him speak. It was so going to be another snide comment about Scott having a clingy girlfriend – _Stiles _– who meddled. Isaac had only made the same joke about twenty times now when Stiles just _showed up_. Instead, today, the wolf-boy reined it in, and donned the 'serious-face-hands-in-pockets' pose. Scott did not react but Stiles was instantly on guard and wary. Isaac did not do _the_ 'serious pose' – that was a Derek or daddy-from-hell Chris Argent thing.

The tall boy sighed and kind of rocked back and forth on his heels while speaking, "Look, Scott, we need your help." Right. Scott. Stiles didn't miss that bit. He was pretty much constantly reminded that it was Scott the wolves wanted to save their bacon. Never-mind he did it quite a bit too! Stiles did not say anything though and let Isaac continue.

"Erica is in the hospital." That ended the 'let him continue' bit.

Scott, "What attacked her?"

Stiles, "I thought your Alpha protects you guys!"

Isaac looked between the two confused for a moment and put his hand up for some silence, "Look. I don't know much. We only got the call yesterday. They would have called her folks but y'know, run-away, Derek snuck in and changed all our contact information awhile back to contact his cell. Apparently she was a Jane Doe for like two days before that. Well not a Jane Doe because she's not dead but you know. . ."

Scott took a step forward looking serious, "Isaac. You're rambling like Stiles. Back to Erica, how is she doing? What's wrong with her?" Both ignored Stiles, "Hey!" at that.

After that Stiles felt like the tag-along he was. Isaac and Scott stood close only a few feet from him talking quickly. Apparently Erica had been a few miles outside town, further than the wolves usually go, and was attacked. She managed to crawl her way to a main road and be found but Boyd was still missing. None of the pack had 'felt him die' (which was a new thing to Stiles they could even _do that_) so he had to be alive. Erica had been taken to a different hospital than the one Scott's mom worked at, thus why they had not heard yet, and was being treated for a sordid list of injuries: four broken ribs, a cracked collarbone, internal bleeding, and a rather major laceration where her throat had been partially slit. Without wolf strength and her naturally high pain tolerance, she would have definitely turned up dead well before reaching a hospital. According to Isaac the doctors had yet to fully realize the extent of her injuries and impossibility of survival (and even recovery) but the wolves planned to break her out well before the humans took notice.

Finally Scott asked the million dollar question, "Who attacked her?"

Isaac shook his head miserably, "We don't know. Peter has some theories but. . ."

Stiles interrupted that train before it even left the station, "_Peter-Psycho-Hale_ has some theories? Why is he even still around? What does _Derek_ think happened to Erica?"

Nothing. No response. Isaac would not even look at Stiles and instead held a steady, unbreaking eye contact with Scott. For yet another time Stiles wondered if there was silent mind-reading level communication going on between the wolves. None of them would ever explain it but swore they just 'knew' what was going on with the other . . . then ignored Stiles when he tried to explain 'just knowing' was _telepathy_.

It was Scott who answered him, "Derek isn't around, is he?"

The tall wolf miserably shook his head.

What? Derek was _gone_ and that was not big enough news for a meeting? Stiles, for a moment, felt as if he were reeling, too irritated with this revelation for words. He didn't understand why it made him so mad. Derek could be any number of places – out of town, in hiding, hell, he could be hibernating for some reason. (Not that wolves did that – as Stiles had totally looked it up.) The absence of the Alpha wolf bugged him to the point Stiles had to reign in a few choice, sarcastic remarks, and instead dropped his next words through gritted teeth, "And where, exactly, has he gone then, Isaac?"Both wolves turned to stare at him – probably reading more into his tone than Stiles himself knew existed in mere vocal sounds – and it even seemed to cowl Isaac. Somehow Stiles felt taller than the other boy though it was definitely not ever the case.

". . .Derek has been missing for about four days now, since before Erica showed up, and we cant find his scent. . .or anything really. He vanished, Scott, and Peter's leading now."

_Peter-Psycho-Hale_ as substitute Alpha? Stiles felt like someone decked him in the _teeth_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry about the wait for Chapter 2. Work. Stuff.  
****This one just also seemed hard to write.  
I wanted this to be two parts but cut the extra stuff.  
No one likes endless exposition. . .haha.**

**Falcum and the Lever - Chapter** 2  
_'Hey Derek, are you in my house again?'_

* * *

"Maybe Derek gave up leadership for some reason."

Stiles peered over at his friend with the blandest expression a teenage boy could muster. In fact, he had been doing for the past hour ever since Isaac spilled his 'revelation' on them and took off. Stiles had been mostly silent on the walk back to the car, thinking in his head for once, but it had not lasted five miles.

"Really Scott? Derek Hale give up leadership of his little pack?"

His best friend's shrug pulled a sigh out of Stiles, "Not going to happen. Plus, leaving his sister-killing uncle in charge? Highly unlikely. Derek is not stupid; guy can't change that much."

Isaac's little 'preaching the change' had pretty much gone in one ear and out the other with Stiles. According to the mini-Derek the oldest living Hale had been nothing but helpful – not just with the kanima incident. He had also started teaching Derek a multitude of tricks and offering tips on 'better pack mentality' to both Derek and Isaac. Apparently the three of them had even rebuilt half the Hale house in just a few days thanks to some money Peter stored away. Still though – how helpful could a guy be when the 'pack' he aided consisted of. . .well. . .himself, the Alpha, and a single beta considering Boyd and Erica took off and Scott refused. Jackson. . .who even wanted him. Was three wolves even technically considered a pack?

"He probably killed Derek and took over – you know that right?"

Scott looked over and shook his head at a red light, "Don't think so. Isaac seemed sincere about Derek's uncle. Plus if Derek were murdered I think he would have definitely known. A pack can kind of feel those things about each other. . ."

Cue wild hand motions from Stiles, "See! Werewolf telepathy! Just like I said before!"

Normally that would have pulled a laugh out of Scott. Not today though – the teen wolf just looked seriously confused by everything since they met Isaac, "It's not like that. We don't read minds or anything. Just like. . .a feeling or a smell and I kind of know what it means. Today I could tell Isaac was being pretty sincere with us." He paused, accelerating again, while Stiles just looked at him expectantly. "It's not just werewolves though. We can kind of do it with normal people to. Y'know, like how we can tell when people lie by the sound of their hearts if we really listen."

Oh, Stiles knew about that. It had only ruined a few surprises planned for his friend, one or two lies about borrowing stuff and 'losing it'. One could only be so honest.

"So you can hear and smell honesty. Christ, next you'll be telling me that you all go into heat once a year or something. . .Scott why are you looking. . .no way." Stiles gaped like a fish at his smirking friend who didn't look away from the road but the profile was enough. When Scott started to speak Stiles quickly threw up both hands and yelled, "I don't want to know! No Allison stories! I have enough nightmares as is, let it go!"

They rode in silence until Stiles let slip a tiny, ". . .Really?"

"What?"

"Really Scott, _heat_?"

"That was a joke, calm down."

Stiles's somewhat exaggerated sigh of relief could be heard for miles.

While discussing the awful topic of heat Stiles dug out his phone. As usual he had to take action into his own hands since Scott was willing to let it go, keep them safe, etc. That never quite worked out. The token-human scrolled down the list of contacts – a small list – until he hit the D's; Danny and Derek alone. Considering it was like 10:30PM, the first would probably kill him for calling. The latter, whom Stile's finger hovered over, had threatened to murder him several times but _probably_ never would at this rate. Hopefully. Assuming someone had not murdered him first. Bad thoughts, bad thoughts, Stile's went to shoot the Alpha wolf a text but paused after the 'Hey Big Bad Wolf'.

"Isaac said they got the call about Erica on Derek's phone right?"

Stiles had not even noticed they were at his house till Scott turned the car off and looked over.

"Yeah, so?"

'_So? Really Scott, have you never paid attention to Derek at all?_' Why was he alone in this?

"There is no way Derek would leave his phone behind and vanish of his own will. Plus, leave it with Isaac? You know he went through it first chance he got. I'm telling ya man, something happened to him and it has to be big-bad-Uncle." Not sure why he was so vehement about this really. Scott seemed to be taking the power transition in slide. Never-mind the various attempted murders of their person. What was with these wolves and giving newly-resurrected Peter Hale the ace? First Derek then Isaac and now. . .

"Look, Stiles. If Derek trusts the guy who murdered his sister – I think we can give him some leeway. Let them sort out what is going on for now. We don't need to be involved."

Stiles looked at Scott as is the teen wolf had grown a second head.

". . .You want us to not get involved?"

"This time, yeah. All the kanima stuff with Jackson. . .things got too dangerous."

The weirdness of his life would never cease. Scott, wanting to stay out of things? Not drag Stiles into them? Not curious? The only reason Stiles could think of was. . .his mom.

"Oh. Yeah, that's true. My dad still barely trusts me."

Scott just stared at him, nodding slightly, which honestly creeped him out. The other had been weird for a day or two now but nothing serious – Stiles just attributed it to his home situation and Allison. This though, a little too strange, and the young Stilinski may have had a little spring to that getting out of the car. No, he wasn't running from his best friend, not at all. That would be sill- Did Scott just drive out without even a 'later'? Things were now officially weird. Not quite lock-the-door-close-the-blinds weird but enough for Stiles to just stand there a moment, watching as Scott turned the street corner, and trying not to think of himself as the girl freshly dumped in one of those bad romance movies.

All it needed to do was start rain- _There it goes_.

Stiles made it inside with only a little dampness. Habitually (_okay, he really never did it until lately_), he locked the front door behind him. Never hurt to be safe; especially seeing as his over-protective father (to the max since the police station incident) would tear him to pieces for not locking up at night. The elder Stilinski was, as usual, not home, and would probably not be so until the next morning. No matter how protective the man wanted to be towards his son he still spent several nights on his office couch. Having his son beaten to a pulp right under his nose had not particularly helped the man's work ethic.

His father is a workaholic. His mother was. . . Not going there. One of his friends and her jerk boyfriend were socially isolating. Another was ignoring them all and learning the family trade of murder-death-kill. His one gay friend wanted nothing to do with him unless it involved paralyzing his exs or getting nude pictures of his 'cousin'. And now, on top of all that, his best friend had just turned into a different-person-slash-zombie on him.

"This is that turn-your-life-around point Stiles. Time to. . ." Sitting on the living room couch, watching a random TV sitcom on mute, and eating chips from the bag hardly seemed like the best time for a life changing revelation. Instead he settled for a coke.

Caffeine was always a revelation.

. . ._and why did his thoughts keep returning to probably-dead-Derek?!_

Must be how hard he worked to keep the stupid Alpha alive. Not intentionally mind you; they just seemed to be in a constant state of saving each other. Scratch that, Stiles saving Derek. It was kind of hard to just let someone die after you swam _hours_ to keep their head above water. Stiles did not even know he was that good a swimmer until it happened. Maybe it was time to give up the supernatural stuff and try out for the Olympic swim team. . .

"Damnit Stiles, _focus_."

Giving up the self-talk was probably not a bad idea either.

Oh well; it helped him think at least, "Okay. So his phone is out, Peter or Isaac have that. They were fixing up the mansion so they have that too. Probably already looked at that station Scott met them at. Doubt he'd go back there anyway." At some point Stiles had picked up a pen and started jotting down the 'best of' Derek-hiding-sports edition. He'd never realized exactly how much hiding the powerful Alpha did until the list just kept going. Stiles would write a place, debate it out, and then cross it out. It was at location twelve that he stopped writing and just stared at the page.

_My House_.

From the couch he yelled up the stairs, "Derek, are you hiding out here again?" Sadly Stiles would not have been particularly surprised. Not like the Alpha asked much permission the other times he'd done it. Still though, that was pre-Alpha-Derek, hiding in the human's house now would just seem pathetic – right? It took forever to get the dog-home-gym smell out of his room. Derek did enough crunches every morning it hurt to watch. When he did not get a response a few minutes later Stiles tried again, a little louder this time, and waited. When no response came he marked his house off the list.

"Big bad wolf, where in the hell did you run off to this time?"

Why did he care again? Oh right, weird friends and serial killers in charge.

"Derek Hale, you need to get back here and sort this out."

. . .Okay, that just felt awkwardly like praying for the Alpha to show up.

Now close to twelve, Stiles gave up the search and tossed everything on the coffee table till tomorrow. After all the late nights chasing Jackson-Kanima his sleep schedule was almost back to normal. Get home late, change into loose pajama pants and a tee, and sink into his almost-foreign-now bed to relax. No wolves scratching at his window. No threat of killer lizards in the night. The relaxation was almost eerie after weeks of excitement.

Save the part where after changing Stiles rechecked the front door, locked his bedroom windows, and he slept with a steak knife from the kitchen underneath his pillow.

Understandably, getting to sleep was a little more difficult than normal. Quite unfortunate seeing as about two hours after he closed his eyes, they flew back open when a hand closed over his mouth. A hand, in his bedroom, in the dark, over his mouth. Stiles struggled against the hold like a mad-man, clutching and pulling at the arm, kicking out with his legs until they too were forced down. Werewolves, kanima, and several other creatures he had seen in the Grimoire floated through his brain. Could have even been the Argents – they seemed on a ticking time bomb of crazy these days. Was this round two of torture?

"Stiles." The voice was quiet and insistent but the teen didn't listen, instead thrashing about trying to break the hold. When the dark voice repeated it came with a lot more fierceness.

"_**Stiles**__, calm down!_"

Red eyes glowed in the darkness, wicked little wisps of light, and Stiles froze.

"Der_mmmmmccckk._"

He could not breath. He _could not breath_. The hand on his mouth pressed down so hard he worried for his teeth, never-mind how this was _so_ going to be one more bruise he could not explain to dear-ol-dad. Message received; Stiles closed his mouth and waited. The silence stretched out, filling the room, and the hand relaxed enough for him to at least breath. Another minute, maybe two, though to Stiles it felt like ten, and Derek leaned forward, over the bed, Stile's frozen-solid body, and all but breathed into the high schooler's ear.

"_Don't make a sound. Not one._"

So no unmanly yelps then as he tried to pull away from that voice? Okay, sure, can do.

"_Grab whatever you need and get dressed. Do NOT turn on any lights._"

And then he was gone. Instantly, a flash, what little Stiles could see of Derek vanished back into the dark. He could move, breath, and sputter violently as he caught his breath and looked around wildly. Looking for Derek. Looking for answers. A moment later looking for his discarded book-bag as he struggled blindly back into jeans and a tee. The whole time Stiles expected the bedroom-creeper Alpha to pop back up and yell at him for being too loud. His clothes hitting the floor seemed too loud. How long had his bed been creaking? The hell, how do you even manage to pop a knuckle putting on _shoes_? By the time he was done Stiles had on an unzipped pair of dark jeans, an old orange shirt clearly inside out, and mismatched converse – red and black. Stuff was shoved in his bag but Stiles had pretty much no idea what – he'd just grabbed the closest stuff and went with it. Which was good as apparently his time was up. In true Derek fashion the alpha gave Stiles no warning. Instead the teen felt a way-too-harsh tug on his arm and they were moving.

The hall lamp gave Stiles his first actual glimpse of the alpha. The leather jacket, the wild dark hair, that broad back and the large hand clutching his forearm, all signs of Derek. From behind, shakily, as Stiles stumbled to keep up with the arm-ripping hold the wolf had on him. Far more noticeable than the wolf's general unkempt appearance though was the smell. Derek _stank_. How he had not noticed it before, when the wolf leered over him in bed, the boy did not know. It was impossible to ignore now. The woods, body odor from probably not bathing, and another metallic smell that Stiles had learned to recognize in the past few months – blood. Derek _reeked_ of blood, a sharp acidic bite to the air.

He could not help himself, "Derek, what the hell is going on?"

Was that a growl? "Stiles, _shut up_."

Derek growling was normally enough to get him shutting up. Okay, no it wasn't, Stiles had mastered ignoring the sour wolf's mood swings. . .most of the time. When he wasn't being abducted from his bed by the guy. The guy who smelled like _garbage_.

"Just tell me-"

The slam was instant and knocked all the breath from his lungs. He should not have been surprised – the wolf's favorite thing to do had always seemed to be slamming Stiles into walls at high speed. To his credit; Stiles did not even yell in surprise this time. He just stared, wide eyed, as the brilliant-red of Derek Hale's eyes came so close to his mere inchs separated them. Their noses practically touched. If he leaned forward even an inch they may have brushed, something Stiles would _so_ never consider, never ever, especially not when the guy was breathing pure _nasty_ on him. Seriously, what the hell-

"_Please. Shut. Up._" Each word came out a growl right in his face and his wide eyes.

And for once Stiles just nodded and shut up. Not because of the growl – Derek _always_ growled when angry – but because. . .well. . .the guy looked _awful_. His hair went every which way and looked caked with dirt. Black bags under the alpha's eyes looked like a paint brush put them in _layers_. Nevermind the blood on his. . .Stiles eyes never left the blood around those pulled lips as he nodded, shakily, and gulped.

_Seems Derek has finally lost it._

. . .and they were moving again. The seemingly crazed werewolf ripped Stiles from the wall so hard the teen stumbled and got dragged along for a moment. No slowing down, no stopping, he took the stairs behind Derek at as much a fall as a walk. The whole time the werewolf's head went back and forth frantically. Looking for something – Stiles did not dare ask what - and hopefully it was not for a place to hide his body. Not that he thought Derek would kill him. . .he hoped. At the base of the stairs Derek paused, taking Stiles with him, and sniffed at the air. Normally Stiles would have had a comment for that but here, in the dark of his own house, the boy kept his mouth shut. He waited, impatiently mind you but he did, as Derek did his thing.

"One more."

_One more what?_

Another jerk on his arm and they were off to the back of the house. Stiles carefully whispered this time, "W-We don't have a back door. " Not that it would help much if they did. Considering how paranoid the elder Stilinski had been lately a back door would probably be triple padlocked and rigged to a shotgun. Maybe two. And explosives.

Derek didn't stop, "I know."

. . ._of course you do, creeper._

Light. Enough to see – the illumination of a half moon. Stiles blinked at the abrupt change from kitchen to somewhat lit dining room. . .and almost stopped walking. The small circle table lay tipped over, one of the legs shattered off, and everything he'd left on it seemed scattered across the tiles. That was bad, awful really, but what really drew Stiles in was the _shattered_ long-vertical window behind the table. In the low light Stiles could not make out any glass on the floor meaning someone busted it out. From the inside. As in, that was probably not how they got in. Wait, why was he even thinking about it, "Derek, what the fuck, how am I supposed to hide this!"

The only response he got was a cough or growl, he could not tell which, and muttering.

"Louder please, _human_ears here."

Derek's grip on his arm got tighter as they rounded the overturned table to the window – it _hurt_ now, "I had to. Look, Stiles, just be quiet." A pause, they hesitated before the window.

"Close your eyes. I doubt you want to see why."

Stiles didn't close his eyes – of course he wouldn't – but wished he had once they stepped over the window ledge and outside. The teen paused seconds from a snappy comment about 'Who _has_ to break a window?' to insert look down. He had stepped in something. Stiles thought process went roughly: _Oh hey, I stepped in something. It rained earlier. Rainwater. Puddle. Oh wait, roof overhang. That water is really dark, mud? No, concrete. Real dark. Red-_. . .and he leapt against Derek's hold as if stung, failing to break the grip but wrenching his arm painfully, to get out of the puddle. They did not stop for a second. More pulling, putting distance on the house, but Stiles did not look where they went. His brown eyes stayed back and followed the puddle, the line of it, staring into the reddish-brown until it ended in a nearby bush. From the amount of blood it had to be dead and hidden in the bush. Most likely not an animal –

"It's not your dad."

Stiles head whipped back around to say something but didn't, Derek was looking over his shoulder, staring back at Stiles. The red of his eyes seemed to radiate more than the moonlight in the dark. For a moment he was captivated by the color, so similar to the blood left behind, and nearly forgot his question. . .that Derek had already answered. The question he handled again, "It's not your dad, I promise." They paused long enough for Derek to sniff again and the wolf kept talking, "Stiles, trust me. I would not let your father get hurt." Stiles shut his mouth. He believed the wolf – surprisingly as he rarely did. This time there was something reassuring about what he said. Not the usual smug 'cocky-as-hell-and-better-than-you' Derek reassurance, that sounded like he could take on the world, this was more 'I actually give a damn about your feelings on this'.

It was weird, foreign, and shut Stiles up effectively as a stop sign. He just nodded.

. . .and Derek honest to God smiled at him for it. Things had gone beyond weird. Was this an episode of Punked? A particularly violent one? Had he slipped into the Twilight zone? Oh god, Twilight, bad jokes sprang to Stiles mind without a will to use them.

Damn ADD.

". . .she's following us." Derek did not glance back, they were on the street now. The lights lit up the world once they hit the sidewalk. Stiles had to blink, his eyes adjusting, and Derek's hold loosened only the smallest bit. The words threw him off and Stiles glanced back at the way they came, into the dark, and searched. Nothing. He could not see a thing – curse his humanness and all.

"I don't see anyone."

"She's there. Just won't approach after her partner tried."

_Partner? Right. Probably the one in the bush._

Cars lined the street belonging to the houses on either side. Derek seemed to stop in front of certain ones, glance inside, then walk on. None of them were the alpha's camaro – Stiles could tell that with a glance. Considering how the guy looked and. . .smelled. . .Stiles kind of did not want the alpha in the camaro. That thing was too nice for it's owner to disrespect it like th-_Wait!_, "Derek, no! Not that one! Those all have alarms installed on them, you want to wake up the neighborhood?" Derek had paused in front of a silver, tricked out looking, _Prius_ of all things, and Stiles barely had time to catch the guy's hand before he smashed the window. There was no snappy comment, no comeback, to Stiles's great surprise Derek just nodded and let himself be led by the hand on Stiles arm. Down the line, past another Prius (when did those get so popular anyway?), a convertible, one beamer (when had rich neighbors moved in? How did Stiles miss that?), and further down before stopping in front of Stiles's choice car.

"Okay, this one should not have an alarm."

Derek actually looked disgusted as he glanced from the car to Stiles, ". . ._Really?_"

"Shut up. You're wanting to steal a car with the Sheriff's son. This is already stupid."

There it was – the famous _Derek smirk_. Granted it lacked the usual irritability seeing as the one wearing it looked like hell. Literally, Stiles had not noticed before but now in the light, looking into the Alpha's haggard, tired face, black ringed and – _Is that a bruise_? He didn't ask. Wouldn't. Why wasn't he running? Derek looked like shit and had probably – almost certainly – killed someone behind Stiles very own house. Killed someone and left them in a _bush. _Yet here he was standing by the Alpha who with one swift, almost karate-chop moment, shattered the window of a beat up old red buick century and unlocked the door. When he held it open the Alpha did not even have to throw him in – Stiles climbed in of his own volition. The teen did not even try to stay in the driver's seat – he would be tossed over then and he knew it.

"What a gentleman."

Derek groaned as he took the driver's seat and pried off the lower dash, "Shut up Stiles."

"So you've said." Why was he here again? Abducted, again, by one of these supernatural 'friends' of his. Stiles tried not to think of his father coming home to. . ._this_. . .as he pried the nearly forgotten backpack off and dropped it at his feet. His father going berserk was inevitable at this point. Broken windows, blood, his son missing? The man would probably go insane. Why had he come with the alph- Oh right, he kind of had no choice.

The engine stirred, purred twice, and the car rumbled to life.

"Are you going to tell me why I'm being abducted?"

"Not abducting you. Saving you."

. . .Stiles suspected as much, "From. . .?"

Derek did not answer immediately. Instead the alpha shifted gears and backed out of the parallel parking into the street. The car actually lurched forward as he slammed the accelerator. Dangerously fast driving in residential areas, Stiles wasn't surprised.

The wolf did not look over at him, "I'll tell you soon, promise." Derek was making a lot of those tonight. Promises. Or not, maybe it was just too odd to see him being. . .

Wait, was he thinking of his abductor as 'nice'? Damn Stockholm Syndrome! His therapist was _so_ not going to be pleased if she had to treat something _else_.

* * *

**And there we have chapter 2 of this little escapade.  
Hit me with some reviews?  
I do not have a beta (obviously) so need your input.  
Plus it is nice to hear from those reading!  
Until next time - which should be soon!**


End file.
